


the maid

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/F, Mermaids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: this is how you love the Gentle Queen after Adam’s Flesh and Bone has melted away the Hundred Year Winter





	the maid

the water drops heavy to the floor as you stand on the polished marble floor, twisting bare rope in between your fingers, as your gills stutter and close up, as you breathe through lungs. the faun behind you drags his hooves over the stone and you feel your hair curl as it dries.

you can feel the Just King’s gaze on you, on your hair and the slits in your throat, on your legs. he is Just, but never soft, and you want to throw yourself at his feet for all that has been done to him, to them, want to offer all that you are, all that you can offer in the name of your kind, but you just straighten your back and wait.

the Magnificent King perks up and rises, a smooth, swift movement, as you hear heels echoing behind you.

you do not turn, but you hear the rustling of fabric as he bows and welcomes his Queen, can imagine the blood red smile on her lips. he leads her to the throne and as they pass you, you drink her in, floor length gown falling around her legs, long black hair twisted into intricate patterns, falling down her back, hand in hand with her High King and you fall to your knees.

she kisses the Just King’s knuckles, calls him ‘love’, settles onto her throne, crown of golden vines resting atop her head, fingers laced with the Valiant Queen’s.

you do not beg for forgiveness. there is no forgiveness for spending a hundred year winter frozen and cold and barely aware.

instead, you bow your head and offer yourself to your Kings and Queens.

#

lace the corset until it lies snug around her waist, until the undershirt tightens around her breasts, until she sighs and says ‘enough’. handle the skirt with delicacy as you let it fall to her hips, beware of the placement of the top, breasts lying perfectly, lace framed, swoon at her smile.

brush her hair, douse it in scented water until it smells like the first ray of sun after the longest of winters, then brush it again. carefully twist her black curls into braids and knots, kiss her neck, marvel at her grace.

be her shadow, always two steps behind her, except when she lies her hand on the small of your back, when she leaves deep red lipstick marks on your collarbones, when she cups your hips and unbuckles your bodice, traces your breasts and leaves you bruised and swollen and gasping for water at her lips.

arch your back and spread your thighs, apply the rouge to her flushed cheeks, kiss her until your legs melt away.

watch her as she turns down her suitors, as she smiles and laughs and hugs her Majesties close, as she dances with the Valiant Queen, who is barefoot and bruised and shining with love.

this is how you love the Gentle Queen after Adam’s Flesh and Bone has melted away the Hundred Year Winter


End file.
